I am like the sun,
A burning sphere so bright,
As night descends,
My thoughts take shape,
A harsh pinkish hue,
They ravish me,
Eat me alive,
Question my self-worth,
But by morning,
When the sun rises,
Like the night sky,
My thoughts disperse,
I assume the personalities of the people I talk to,
Leaving my own behind.

When can I become the moon?
Where the light that shines upon the earth,
Resembles the light I want to shine for myself,
For people to marvel at my beauty,
On blankets laid upon sharp, dewy blades of grass,
Singing praises from their eyes,
To my lustful glow,
Seeing through the eyes of telescopes,
Searching far and wide,
Of what is hindered by gravity,
Where I can triumph in the sky,
Amongst the vast darkness.

When can others be stars?
Tiny pebbles that shine smaller than mine,
For, from our own perspective,
We shine the brightest light.

When can I live my life?
Where I no longer try to be another star,
Content with no thoughts like the sun,
Having friends as Jupiter has his moons.
© Myth